“what if someohe yeion knows that someohe eion is a serial killer, but they don’t want it aowledged. the family’s honour and all that crap. that would meawo people i not that they’re ihe murderer could have died years ago, while our wants us to drop the whole thing and go home.”
“but why, in that case, put a mutilated our porch? it’s an unmistakable referehe murders.” blomkvist tapped harriet’s bible. “again a parody of the laws regarding burnt s.”
salander leaned bad looked up at the church as she quoted from the bible. it was as if she were talking to herself.
“then he shall kill the bull before the lord; and aaron’s sos shall present the blood, ahrow the blood round about agaihat is the door of the teing. and he shall flay the burnt and to pieces.”
she fell sile blomkvist was watg her with a tense expressiohe bible to the first chapter of leviticus.
“do you koo?”
sala reply.
“and he shall…” he began, nodding at her.
“and he shall to pieces, with its head and its fat, a shall lay them ihe wood that is ohe altar.” her voice was ice.
“a verse?”
abruptly she stood up.
“lisbeth, you have a photographiikael ex surprise. “that’s why ye of the iion in ten seds.”
her reaost explosive. she fixed her eyes on blomkvist with such fury that he was astouhen her expressioo despair, aurned on her heel and rae.
“lisbeth,” he shouted after her.
she disappeared up the road.
mikael carried her puter ihe alarm, ahe front door before he set out to look for her. he foues later ohe mariing there, dippihe water and smoking. she heard him ing aloy, and he saw her shoulders stiffeopped a couple of paces away.
“i don’t know what i did, but i dido upset you.”
he sat dowo her, tentatively plad on her shoulder.
“please, lisbeth. talk to me.”
she turned her head a him.
“there’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “i’m just a freak, that’s all.”
“i’d be overjoyed if my memory was what yours is.”
she tossed the cigarette end ier.
mikael sat in silence f time. osed to say? you’re a perfeary girl. what does it matter if you’re a little different? what kind of self-image do you have, anyway?
“i thought there was somethi you the instant i saw you,” he said. “and you know what? it’s been a really long time since i’ve had sutaneous good impression of ahe very beginning.”
some came out of a the other side of the harbour ahe water. the painter, eugen norman, with whom blomkvist still had not exged a single word, was sitting in a chair outside his house, su his pipe as he regarded blomkvist and salander.
“i really want to be your friend, if you’ll let me,” he said. “but it’s up to you. i’m going back to the house to put on some more e whe.”
he got up a her in peace. he was only half the hill when he heard her footsteps behind him. they walked home together without exg a word.
she stopped him just as they reached the house.
“i was in the proulatialked about the fact that all this is a parody of the bible. it’s true that he took a cat apart, but i suppose it would be hard to get hold of an ox. but he’s followiory. i wonder…” she looked up at the chur. “ahrow the blood round about agaihat is the door of the teing…”
they walked over the bridge to the churkvist tried the door, but it was locked. they wandered around for a while, lookiohey came to the chapel, which stood a short distance away, dower. all of a sudden blomkvist opened his eyes wide. it el, it t. above the door he could read the name vao the stone, along with a verse in latin, but he ot decipher it.
“‘slumber to the end of time,’” salander said behind him.
blomkvist turo look at her. she shrugged.
“i happe verse somewhere.”
blomkvist roared with laughter. she stiffe first she looked furious, but then she relaxed whehat he was laughing at the edy of the situation.
blomkvist tried the door. it w
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